Days 3 - 7 NOVEL Image

i can already tell i am not going to be very good at keeping track of days.  i totally abandoned ship this week, to use an over-used cliche.  stopped the irish story, stopped the kevin story and started what i will call the 'hanging story.' BUT. i had a mini-epiphany, a miphany.  i realized that the stories that i like the most (of the ones i have written) start from an image, not a character. a single image. that is what the stories i like have in common. AND. once i start writing about the image, exploring it, the characters start to come into focus (wow, it is cliche city here tonight!) the characters feel free to come out.  so, i have 3 new characters that are circling my thoughts now that came about when i started writing about the image of a man hanging in a picture window and passers-by thinking it was performance art. i am excited to sit down and write tomorrow because i feel like i have somewhere to go.  images. 

here is an image i want to write about.  the baby with the headless mom.  saw this in a museum in london on a very rainy day last june. just found this on my phone today. i could hardly walk away from this. the power of a mother's arms when all else is gone.

Day 2 - NOVEL

switched topics.  tried writing the train scene and bored myself silly.  but i need the train scene. or maybe not. anyway, i bailed and started writing about a character i was working on this summer. notebook got wet leaning against my belly at the pool.  so, to sum up day 2, i switched stories. good lord, this is going to be a process.  maybe when the kids are in school . . . maybe when i'm not sitting at the pool . . . maybe when i'm back at my desk . . .

Day 1 - NOVEL

I'm changing this up a little. Last night I started the Novel In a Year Workshop at Story Studio Chicago.  So I am officailly calling today, August 21st, the first day of MY NOVEL.  What novel you ask? Very good question.  I am using this to document my progress, hoping there is some. I will say, there are great people in the class and a feeling of community (wow, i say I'm going to start a novel and then i go and get all cliche on you!) I wrote a page last night - that counts! and tonight i have set aside an hour to just write. i hope the characters are not too tired from the run and will join me!
This first thing I did is I went for a run.  Ran about 7 miles.  Let my characters swirl about my head, no epiphanys, yet, but it felt productive.

So.  Here is the big bad blank page. I am driving children to school orientations and book pick-ups. hope to fill in some blanks.

lilly would be proud

this is george wearing my mother's lilly pulitzer pants, circa 1975.  he looks a little like robert plant, no?  i think if you can rock the pink and green, you can rock anything.

Easter Eggs from Dad's Ties

It's funny.  I remeber standing in the foyer on Ardmore Road, in front of Dad as he stood at the full length mirror on the door of the open hall closet and tied his ties. I guess I watched the whole process backwards, and in awe: Dad in the mirror, flipping the tie around, pulling it through the knot, moving his neck side to side as he knotted his ties. He was a handsome daddy. I remember him in striped ties, mostly.  The ties we used for dying are his patterned ties. We did this last year, too.  Took Dad's old silk ties, cut them, wrapped them around eggs (silk side facing the egg) then wrapped the bundle in pieces of old white sheets, put them in a pan, covered them with cold water and 3 tablespoons of vinegar, bring the eggs to a boil then simmer for 20 minutes, cool and open the bundles. That is the best part, opening the eggs. In some places you see the pattern, inverted, I guess the same way I watched Dad tie the ties. In some places, you see the wrinkles of the wrapping. Lots of wrinkles.  Here are a few pictures.

I wrote a poem!

In writing class, we are supposed to "immerse" ourselves in poetry. This morning I was immersed in spring snow and bored dog. Tonight i am immersed in tequila.


Here is my go at poetry: (yes, i know it doesn't rhyme)



Terrarium


My fingernails are brown with earth
I have patted to the bottom
of the wide mouth glass jar.

Soil sits on top of stones
stolen from the shore,
grains of sand that will never be.

Button ferns and baby’s tears
and one begonia –
(because they are hearty
and like to keep to themselves)
tucked next to one another
but soon to look like one –
the way the forest, seen from the highway
is just a forest,
not one fern, not one fir, not one moss blanketed linden

Placed too close together,
each knows it’s place
as green encircles the red begonia

I crave spots of beauty these days,
Little living things I can put a top on
And admire and not worry about.

peaceful houdi, peaceful minnie

a rare moment of calm for houdi and minnie . . . seeing minnie in the M22 sweatshirt makes me want to be up in glen lake, sitting out on the beach with sue, drinking cold beer, peter and don starting the grill . . . many moments of calm in glen lake